


Talking (And Other Uses For Your Mouth)

by archdemonblood



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Homophobia, M/M, ambiguous ending, food discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10014671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archdemonblood/pseuds/archdemonblood
Summary: 19th century Gay nerds talk about homosexuality and (badly) attempt to deny their attraction to each other.





	

Wednesday the 21st of June. The heat was blistering and dear old Tante Bathilda was insufferable, peppering Gellert with questions over breakfast about the contents of the letter his parents had sent him the day before: How were they? Had his mother recovered from her Dragon Pox, because she’s getting up there in age and-- Did they seem to be coming around about Gellert getting expelled? 

The last question grated, but not for the reason Tante Bathilda thought. Gellert was still frustrated with himself for getting expelled, as well he ought to have been. Contrary to the sob story he had sold Tante Bathilda about why he needed to spend a few months away from Vienna, however, his relationship with his parents had changed little. Gellert’s overly-indulgent mother had forgiven Gellert before he’d even arrived home; she’d had more excuses for his lapse in judgement prepared than he had. Gellert’s father, who was always distant and never pleased, was distant and not pleased in a slightly more vocal way than that to which Gellert was accustomed.

So when Gellert excused himself from the table with half his breakfast uneaten, he let his aunt assume that it was because of his parents, but in truth, he just didn’t feel like being reminded of his own failures. 

It wasn’t a long walk to the Dumbledore house, but Gellert was mopping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his robe long before he got there. What he wouldn’t to be at school on top of an icy Norwegian mountain... Or back in Vienna. It got hot in Vienna, of course, but it’s always better to be uncomfortable in one’s own home, and if all else failed, he and his cousins could have gone sailing on the Danube. It was easier to bear the heat, so close to the water, and even if they got splashed with water that was muddy and smelled of fish, they didn’t mind, because at least it was cool, and they were surrounded by Vienna’s marvelous views.

Godric’s Hollow offered nothing but baked mud beneath Gellert’s shoes and a delightful view of a terribly crooked fence and an overgrown garden. Ignotus Peverell could have died anywhere in the world, and he chose Godric’s Hollow. Wonders never cease. 

It was Aberforth who opened the door when Gellert knocked. He took one look at Gellert and snickered. 

Gellert raised an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Nothing.” Aberforth stepped out of Gellert’s way and nodded for him to enter. “He’s in his room.” 

It was too hot to hex his best friend’s little brother over something that minor, so Gellert let it go and walked up the stairs to Albus’ room. The Dumbledore house on the whole was nothing remarkable; Like Tante Bathilda’s house, it was quintessentially small-town British. The main floor had a kitchen and dining room that were barely big enough to use, and a narrow living room that no one but Aberforth ever seemed to use or likely ever had. On the second floor, there was one wash closet and three bedrooms: Aberforth’s, which Gellert had caught glimpses of at times when the door was ajar, and which always had at least three days of clothes on the floor; Mrs. Dumbledore’s room, which Gellert had never seen the inside of and was only mildly curious about; and Albus’ room. Ariana’s room was up in the attic. 

Albus’ room was small, but it was decorated in the same red and deep gold and Aberforth’s; Gryffindor colors, Gellert knew, to make their rooms feel homier after they spend so much of the year in a dormitory. (Gellert had never had that problem. Durmstrang’s dormitories had never felt particularly homey.) Albus had a twin bed, a nightstand, a wardrobe, and a desk. Every other spare inch of the room was covered in book shelves. 

There was a red rug on the hardwood floor, and that were Gellert found Albus. 

Albus sat up quickly when Gellert opened the door, and they stared at each other in silence for a moment.

Gellert coughed awkwardly.

“Your face is very red, you know.” Albus couldn’t meet Gellert’s eyes. 

“You’re one to talk,” Gellert said. 

“No. I mean, it’s like you’re hot.” Albus sounded a lot more sure of himself now. “Which I suppose you must be, after the walk over here in this heat. Come here.” 

“To the...?” But Gellert didn’t finish the question. Albus was looking into his eyes now, with a gaze that just screamed ‘Trust me!’ 

Gellert hadn’t actually expected to like Albus Dumbledore. He’d been in Godric’s Hollow for three days when Tante Bathilda invited Albus over for dinner, and in that time, Gellert hadn’t put down his research to do anything but eat and sleep. When he’d walked downstairs for dinner and saw a visitor of his own age sitting at the table, he’d known immediately what his aunt’s scheme was, and he had sat down with a frozen smile.

The plan had been to let Albus and Tante Bathilda chat away like the old friends they apparently were, then politely bow out and back upstairs to his research as soon as his plate was empty. Ultimately, though, Gellert hadn’t touched half of his food before Albus’ brilliance was apparently, and then Gellert couldn’t seem to leave him. He stayed at that table and they talked for hours about magical theory and history and politics. Gellert had visited Albus nearly every day since then. In less than a week, he’d revealed to Albus his real reason for coming to Godric’s Hollow. In a fortnight, they were plotting a revolution together. 

The rug was cool. Not cool relative to the room, but _actually_ cool. Like the unused part of the bedsheet that you roll over onto in the middle of a warm night. Gellert quickly went from his knees to his stomach and pressed his overheated face into it. He sighed contentedly and snuggled that rug as if it were a satin pillowcase. 

“You could have done this to your bed,” Gellert pointed out, though he didn’t really care. 

“I knew you’d come.” Albus let that hang for a moment, as if the logical conclusion should have been obvious. When Gellert gave no indication that it was, he hastily added, “The rug is bigger. It’s more comfortable for both of us than the bed would be.” It sounded like the sort of weak excuse that Gellert used to give his professors when they’d caught him in the middle of a rule violation. 

Gellert didn’t answer for a moment, but because he could feel Albus’ eyes on him, he breathed out a soft “Ja, stimmt.” 

“I--I’ve already pulled the books we need.” 

“Good.” Gellert made up his mind in an instant. He sat up, and in one smooth motion, he pulled his sweaty robes over his head and laid back down in nothing but his trousers. 

Albus stared at him with wide eyes. 

Gellert became suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry. Was that...?” It was hard to find words in Albus’ language to describe what Albus was feeling, even though Gellert knew many words. “At school, when it was just us boys, we did what made us comfortable.”

 

“... It’s fine.” Albus pushed his glasses back up his nose and laid down next to Gellert. 

They read and they talked and they talked and they read, well past lunch and into the late afternoon, and Gellert vividly remembered looking over and seeing that Albus was asleep. Albus fell asleep first. That was important. 

Gellert did fall asleep, though. He was more comfortable than he’d been since the heat wave hit the day before, and it was so quiet and peaceful here. Aberforth was keeping Ariana entertained and Albus was breathing deeply... 

They woke early the next morning, when the world was still tinged blue. The rare sound of something happening in Godric’s Hollow--a horse passing by on the road outside--pulled them both from their slumber quickly. 

Albus’ glasses had fallen half off his face, so that the left one was still on his ear but the right one was down on his chin. 

Gellert could feel his own hair sticking out at odd angles. His stomach growled. He didn’t say ‘Have I been here all night?’ because that would have been stupid. Instead, he said, “I should go home. Tante Bathilda might be worried.” That was unlikely. Tante Bathilda wasn’t the sort of woman who felt the need to know where Gellert was at all times. That was one of the things Gellert appreciated about her. There was nothing in Godric’s Hollow that was going to get boys like Gellert and Albus killed, so she didn’t police their behavior. She had very likely gone to bed at her normal time, and if Gellert returned now and slipped into bed, she’d have no way of knowing he hadn’t been there most of the night. 

It was a lie, but Albus knew it was a lie, so it didn’t really count. 

Albus nodded. He wasn’t looking at Gellert; he was looking at everything _but_ Gellert, so it must have been deliberate. “And I--I have grocery shopping to do today, so...” 

“Right.” Gellert had never been grocery shopping. They had an elf to take care of that at home, and a few dozen elves for that at Durmstrang, and here in Godric’s Hollow, Tante Bathilda took care of that. From what Gellert knew of it, it sounded unpleasant. “Tomorrow, then?” Gellert picked up his robes, which were now dry, if smelly. Oh well. Gellert wouldn’t have to wear them for long. 

Albus nodded again, looking at the floor. “Tomorrow. Good. Bye. Goodbye.” 

Albus was being weird, which only made Gellert want to leave faster. “Servus.” 

The walk back to Tante Bathilda’s house was not as miserable as the walk from it had been, since the heat of the day hadn’t quite set in yet, and after a full day and night on the floor, Gellert’s back was quite pleased to be placed on a mattress again. He slept soundly until Tante Bathilda called him for breakfast, and occupied himself throughout the rest of day with replying to the letter from his parents, which was difficult only because he had to make it sound like he was doing something his father might consider worthwhile in England when that wasn’t really the case, and later with some casual reading on interests he and Albus didn’t share. 

Gellert wasn’t certain whether or not he should go to Albus the next day, given Albus’ strange behavior when Gellert left. Gellert couldn’t understand it. Everything had been fine when they’d drifted off; what could possibly have changed while they were sleeping? 

While Gellert was still trying to make up his mind, Albus came to Gellert. Gellert heard a knock downstairs, and he let his aunt get it, as he always did. 

Three minutes later, Albus was standing in Gellert’s bedroom. There were three thick books tucked under his arms, and he pulled one out and offered it to Gellert. “I want to talk about morality.” 

“Morality?” Gellert traced the embossed silver title on the old tome: _The Guiding Principles of Magical Government_. Gellert needed a manicure. 

“We don’t need to completely reinvent the wand, Gellert,” Albus said. “We are acting on an ethical basis as much as a logical one, and I think it would be to our benefit to strengthen our ethical arguments. I thought you should look at Chapter 5 of that. There’s something in there that I’d really like to discuss with you.” 

Gellert sat on his bed and opened the book, and Albus sat down next to him, but turned his body so that his back was against the footboard. Albus put one of the remaining books down on the bed and opened the third in his lap. They read together in silence, as they often did, until Gellert had finished the chapter on Spartan wizarding society and collectivism among early magical communities. 

Gellert looked over and caught Albus’ eyes when he’d finished reading. 

Albus smiled. “A question came to my mind immediately when I read that.” 

“‘What is the role in such a society of those who have magical abilities but were not raised within the society?’” 

Albus frowned. “No, but we can certainly come back to that. I was curious about your thoughts on the matter of homosexuality in an ideal world.” 

Gellert raised an eyebrow. 

Albus glanced away, with a look on his face not at all unlike the one he had worn when they’d awoken on the rug the morning before. “Here, such people are considered blood-traitors--Not a term that I put much stock into, my parents being who they are, but at the heart of it is the idea that they’re working against the good of wizarding society by not having children.” 

Gellert nodded. “At Durmstrang, there was this group of girls that wouldn’t keep off each other. No one thought much of it until the spring gala rolled around, and those girls danced with each other all night and refused any boy who asked them. After that, the Headmistress split us all into groups to have ‘a talk’ with a professor.” 

“What did they say?” There was a note of apprehensiveness to Albus’ voice. 

Gellert leaned back casually and smirked. “They said that homosexuality was like cake: Everyone finds themselves with a craving once in awhile, and there’s nothing wrong with indulging it, but it can’t be all you eat. When someone eats too much of it, they become unhealthy; even sick in extreme cases.”

“I see,” Albus said. The words hung there between them for too long, and with too much weight. Gellert tried to look as sincere as he could, but Albus shifted uncomfortably. “And do you... eat cake?” 

Gellert shrugged. “Who hasn’t? I certainly won’t deny the virtues or even the pleasures of a healthy meal, but...” Gellert licked his lips. “I’ve had some wonderful cakes.”

Gellert saw the obvious follow-up question form on Albus’ lips, but Albus thought better of it and instead asked a more socially acceptable question: “So you agree with your professors, then?”

“Hm...” Gellert’s lips curled and then uncurled around his teeth. “I think that at the heart of this issue is whether or not we believe everyone has an obligation to procreate.”

Albus swallowed hard. “And what do _we_ believe?”

Gellert shrugged. “Things seem to work fine now, wouldn’t you say? There’s no need to regulate every aspect of every individual’s life.” 

Albus nodded. “I suppose.” 

“Not the answer you were looking for?” 

Albus averted his eyes again, and let his red hair fall into his face as if to hide him. “That answer is fine. Thank you, Gellert. You have a way of making things... clear.” 

Gellert smirked. “Good.” Gellert turned slightly, and laid down next to Albus. Gellert’s bed was much larger than Albus’, and Gellert often found himself grateful for that. He felt Albus’ gaze on him, and could almost hear Albus’ internal fight about whether or not to lie down next to Gellert. Albus chose to remain seating, but Gellert curled his body around Albus anyway, so close and intimate but not quite touching him. “Now, about Muggelborns...”

~*~

On Monday the 26th, it rained, finally breaking the heat wave. Gellert had never been so happy to see bad weather in all his life. He liked sunshine. Most of the Durmstrang students did, particularly when they went nearly a month without seeing any. Gellert also liked not baking to death, though. Gellert even agreed to join Albus out on the covered yard, where the air was cool and smelled like Tante Bathilda’s garden. Tante Bathilda even brought them tea. 

They began with a review of their theories about the cloak, but that discussion quickly faded into complaining about Henry Potter’s dogs escaping and proceeding to wake up half the town with their wild adventures the night before. 

Then there was a long moment of silence, filled only by the clink of teacups on saucers, before Albus spoke like he’d been rehearsing what to say in his head for hours: “Can I ask you something personal, Gellert?” 

Gellert batted his eyes. “ _Anything_ , Albus.” 

Albus nodded, and took a long breath to work up his courage. “You said you’d had cake. Good cake.” He stopped there, and looked up at Gellert until Gellert’s face showed that he understood. “I myself have never had the pleasure. I’ve looked at cake before and thought that it seemed tasty, but there’s always been something holding me back. It just... hasn’t felt right.” 

Gellert glanced at the garden door, just to make sure that his aunt wasn’t about to appear and overhear a conversation that both she and they would prefer she not hear. The worst Gellert could imagine her doing if she figured out what they were actually discussing was mentioning it offhandedly to Gellert’s father, but that was more than Gellert cared to deal with now. He didn’t particularly want half the village to hear him get screamed at in German when _that_ howler arrived.

There was nothing to indicate that Tante Bathilda was anywhere near them, though, so Gellert turned back to Albus. “It doesn’t have to be right,” he said. “I don’t think there’s any such thing as _wrong_ cake.”

Albus’ eyes brightened, though his voice stayed calm. “You like... all cake?” 

“Oh, no,” Gellert said, sitting back. “There’s cake I don’t enjoy. But that doesn’t make it _wrong_. That’s your problem, Albus. You need to stop thinking about this in terms of right and wrong. It’s enjoyable or it’s not. That’s all that matters.” 

“And how do you know if it’s going to be enjoyable?” 

Gellert looked into Albus’ eyes, but kept his voice neutral. “Usually, you just know. If it doesn’t look good, it won’t be. If it does, it’s worth trying.” 

“And nothing has ever looked good but turned out not to be?” 

Gellert laughed. “You know the answer to that question. Some things have excellent presentation but no real flavor. It’s a risk you take.” 

Albus gave Gellert that look he sometimes did, like Gellert was showing him the world. Gellert may have been the younger of the two of them, but he had travelled. He was natively bilingual and fluent in three other languages on top of it, he’d seen far away places and met more people than Albus had, and apparently he’d experimented more than Albus had, in more than one way. Albus was brilliant, but he was a bit like a caged bird, trapped here in Godric’s Hollow with family obligations he never wanted. He’d fly soon, though. “I’m surprised you’ve never tried this for yourself, Albus.” 

Albus was leaning forward intently. Trying to get closer to Gellert as Gellert leaned casually away. “Like I said, I’ve looked, but... tasting was discouraged at Hogwarts. Moreso than at Durmstrang, from the way you tell it.” 

And now Gellert shifted and leaned on the other arm of his chair, bringing himself closer to Albus. “You’ll have to try tasting sometime.”

~*~

On Friday the 30th, Ariana had a bad day. Albus and Aberforth both stayed with her well into the evening, and when Albus owled Gellert and invited him over, he noted that Gellert might not be able to stay long, if Ariana’s good mood didn’t last. 

Nevertheless, Gellert came, and soon they were back in Albus’ bedroom. 

“I have a Gregorovitch wand.” Gellert twirled the wand in his recently manicured fingers to emphasize the point. It was an odd thing, for one who’d been expelled to keep his wand, but technically, Gellert had never been convicted of a crime. If Gellert’s parents were good for anything, it was their connections. “Gregorovitch wands are excellent. The best in the world.” 

Albus smiled. “I’ve no complaints about Ollivander.” 

Gellert tempered himself. “Of course. No one buys a wand they believe is second-rate, and I’ve heard of the talents of Britain’s wandmaking family. But you must understand, Durmstrang students aren’t like Hogwarts students: We have our pick of half a dozen world-class wandmakers, and everyone swears by Gregorovitch. I could have gone to Budapest and gotten a wand from Fodor and been home for lunch, but my parents took me all the way to Russia for Gregorovitch.” 

Albus was staring at Gellert with a blank, dreamy look in his eyes. 

Gellert smirked. “I’m sorry. I’m boring you. I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging.”

Albus blinked. “Hm?” 

Gellert laughed. “I’ve thought it over, Albus. He might have it. I didn’t put much stock in the rumors, but it’s the only lead we have, and it makes _some_ sense. The world’s most powerful wand must be a fascinating thing for a wandmaker to study.” 

“And it’s probably better in his hands than in most others. In my experience, wandmakers lead relatively quiet lives.” 

“Well, I can think of better hands for it.” Gellert look at his own wand hand, and then at Albus’. In a quick, smooth motion, he dropped to his knees before Albus’ bed and grabbed Albus’ hand, intertwining their fingers and smiling up at him. 

Albus looked down at him, and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, Gellert on the floor and Albus on the bed, both of them smiling. Gellert squeezed Albus’ hands. It had been a long day for Albus, and Gellert understood that, but Gellert wanted Albus here now, paying attention to him. 

Judging by the look in Albus’ eyes and everything else he’d said over the last week and a half, he wanted Gellert in a very different way. Gellert had to admit, he found the thought pleasant, but there was a time for such things. Attraction was a powerful card, and Gellert knew he might regret playing it early. On the other hand, he didn’t want to wait so long that Albus gave up. 

Their hands remained clasped long after their laughed died, and then it was just the two of them, staring at each other and holding onto each other, their bodies so close and separated by only the thinnest of summer robes. 

Gellert made a decision.


End file.
